


Now You See Me

by corvusdraconis, Dragon_and_the_Rose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_the_Rose/pseuds/Dragon_and_the_Rose
Summary: [HG/SS] (NC/AU) Hermione and Snape become the victim of a vengeful Dark spell that turns them into the perfect agents to end the war that neither of the two main powers knows about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary:**  [HG/SS] (NC/AU) Hermione and Snape become the victim of a vengeful Dark spell that turns them into the perfect agents to end the war that neither of the two main powers knows about.

 **[M]** ature for safety, Hermione is of age in this, as she always is in my fics.

 **A/N** : Uh… I blame The Dragon and the Rose. Yup. And Cthulhu.

 **Beta Love** : The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard

 **Disclaimer:**  JKR's stuff is still JKR's stuff, and I'm still playing in her sandbox.

* * *

**Now You See Me, Now You Don't**

_It's a new challenge to see how people can change your look. I like words like transformation, reinvention, and chameleon because one word I don't like is predictable. — Naomi Campbell_

* * *

_Dear Mr and Mrs Granger,_

_We regret to inform you that your daughter, Hermione Jean Granger, was caught in an accidental explosion during Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning, but we are regrettably unable to release to you the body due to the severity of the incident. We will transfer to you the remainders of her personal items within the next few days after Aurors have finished looking them over._

_My most sincere condolences,_

_Headmaster A. P. W. B. Dumbledore_

* * *

Hermione awoke feeling like her head was packed full of wads of cotton. It was dark, warm, and oddly organic, so very unlike her bed. Yet, she was quite comfortable there— also unlike her bed. She hadn't been able to sleep well in her bed since Lavender and Parvati had pranked it, causing her to act out the fairy tale of the princess and the pea. She stirred, and the warmth moved around her comfortably. It was still dark.

Warm.

Pleasant.

She felt a odd purring rumble next to her, and she felt calmer.

Why not just rest a bit more? She hadn't been able to sleep well in a long time. Just a bit.

That warmth wrapped around her, the presence becoming an embrace, and she felt her tongue flick over her lips in pleasure as her eyes fluttered closed.

Her hands twitched, followed by her arms and legs feet, and even her head; the warmth spread through her with an even greater comfort. She could hear a heartbeat— no two— beating in the darkness. The more she listened, the more they seemed to grow together in synchronisation. She was floating, or so it seemed, in the vastness of space or the fathoms of the deep ocean— yet she could breathe, and she was strangely calm.

She could hear the magic singing to her. It wove in and out of her, but it seemed to both caress and explore her entire being as if it was searching for something. Tendrils of magical colour swirled both outside and inside— yet she did not see it. Instead, she felt the gentle, curious touches, like the curl of a serpent around her body, gently squeezing— capable of crushing but choosing not to.

The fear she had felt when she had been unable to move on the dueling platform— she hadn't seen Goyle cast anything, yet when he pointed his wand at her, his grin had told her that he  _knew_ she couldn't move.

Snape had seemed to realised that something was off, and he had jumped towards her, pulling her to him as he cast a shielding spell that bespoke of an immense power that she had yet to tap. Yet that spell Goyle had cast had torn through it as if it was as insubstantial as wet tissue paper. There had been tremendous pain unlike anything she had ever felt before. She had tasted her own blood. She felt it leaking out of her— even as she felt something being splashed all over both her and Professor Snape—

" _Stupid Mudblood. Your blood is no better than a dumb beast's."_

" _What the hell are you doing?!"_

" _Get the hell away, Potter, or something might happen to you too."_

" _You just attacked a_ _ **TEACHER!"**_   _someone screeched loudly._

" _What are you complaining about, Potter? It was your book in your bag that had the spell I used."_

" _What? There's no such spell in my book!"_

" _If you say anything about this, Potter, I'll tell them_ _ **exactly**_ _what you've been hiding in your bookbags lately."_

" _What the hell is happening in here?!" Ron's voice cracked as he yelled in fright._

" _The floor— it's somehow pulling them under like quicksand!"_

" _What?!"_

" _Everyone get out, it's starting to spread!"_

" _WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO SEVERUS?!" Draco's voice shrieked._

" _It— it wasn't supposed to affect_ _ **HIM!**_ "

Then the screaming started in earnest— but not her own. That was the last thing she had heard.

Then only silence.

Total and complete silence.

But now, she was safe and warm. She felt sort of drowsy but otherwise perfectly fine. The song of the magic seemed perfect and welcoming, almost as if it were apologising for having hurt her before.

 _Never again_ , it seemed to sing.  _Join us._

_Join us._

_Sing with us._

_Learn with us._

_Accept us, and we shall love you forever._

The song was so beautiful. Of course she would want to join with that feeling of total belonging.

"Yes," she whispered. "I accept."

She felt a light brush against her lips, like the prelude to kiss, and magic poured into her body in a rush. Her body jerked like a puppet on strings as raw magic filled every part of her body and blazed outward from her eyes, nose, and mouth in a silent scream of transcendent ecstasy.

Vaguely she heard another voice joining with hers, and the warmth of strong arms pulled her close in the darkness as the heady wave of belonging swallowed her up completely.

* * *

Hermione awoke again as her body pulled itself back up out of the stone floor of the DADA room only to realise that her professor had done the same. Yet, as their feet touched the ground, they abruptly realised that the grim team of Aurors and the white-faced teachers of Hogwarts couldn't see them at  _all_.

Probably a good thing, considering they weren't wearing any clothes.

Hermione gave a soft shriek of mortification as her professor saw her in her starkers— and well, she blushed deeply as she noticed that he was starkers too. They staggered away from each other, simultaneously wishing fervently that they were dressed.

And suddenly they both  _were_ dressed, the clothing seeming to weave themselves around their bodies out of thin air.

Hermione touched herself then tried to touch the nearby Auror, and her hand passed through him like that of a ghost. The Auror turned around, startled, but looked right through her.

He shivered, rubbing the place where she had touched him.

Having a suspicion, she reached out and touched her teacher.

" _ **What are you doing?!"**_  Snape yelled at her, but the moment her fingers solidified and touched him, there was that jolt of completeness— like finding a piece of yourself you'd always been missing but had somehow never realised it.

The same epiphany seemed to come over him as well, and he drew a pained intake of breath, perhaps in reflex more than actual need. His arms were around her in a flash, pulling her to him as his body shuddered. That instant of sweet, painful ecstasy of existence flowed between them.

"Thank you for trying to save me, Professor," she whispered into his chest.

"Bloody good it did either of us," he muttered, but his arms remained around her as if afraid what would happen if he let go.

"It means a lot. To me," Hermione confessed.

She pulled away from him, not missing the wince he gave at her leaving, but she raised her hand to quell any instinctive lashing out he might give. She sat next to him, not touching, and frowned. She then scooted over and pressed against him, and the relief was almost instant.

He let out a gasp as she purposely snuggled into him, and his arm wrapped around her as his eyes closed, his emotions manifesting as one single tear trailed down his nose.

"I suppose this is one way to solve that crush I've had on you the past couple of years," Hermione said quietly.

Snape's head jerked up, he stared at her with wide dark eyes, disbelief clearly written across every line of his face.

"What? It's true," Hermione muttered. "You could read me the ruddy school supplies list, and I'd be blissfully happy."

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he didn't pull away from her. It seemed as though their predicament had left him somewhat lacking in vocabulary sufficient to communicate all he wished to say.

The bell for the witching hour rang out, and Hermione closed her eyes. "Happy Birthday, me," she said quietly. "Seventeen for the normal count… and nineteen for those who are keeping track."

Severus just stared at her.

"Time Turner," she explained. "Not that it really matters now, eh?" She sighed.

Snape noticed her sadly staring off into space. Her hand curled around his, tightly squeezing it, and he caught a flood of images of her parents greeting her at the station, watching her board, smiling as she blew out candles on a very pink cake, laughing as she built an impressive snow fort in their yard, right in front of her father's customary parking space—

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"I'm so stupid," she sniffled. "I've been going to school every year just fine, but now I'm busting to pieces because I just realised my mum and dad may never see me again."

"It's not stupid to actually have something back home to miss," he said quietly.

She looked into his eyes and caught a flash of terrible beatings, yelling, screaming— at both him and his mother— and his mother's terrified expression as she shoved Severus into a closet and used what little wandless magic she possessed to seal it closed so his drunken father couldn't beat him anymore.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Snape closed his eyes, any anger he might have had over her intrusion into his memories seemed missing. "He was a right bastard, Miss Granger. Do not be sorry for the unchangeable past."

She clasped his hand tighter, wedging her head into his robes as she snuggled in closer. He couldn't even find it within himself to protest her very familiar actions— it felt far too goddamned wonderful to have someone understand and still want to touch him.

Something had happened in that odd time, in that unfathomable space between. Something had inextricably bound them together in a strange kind of Purgatory, sharing their memories, emotions— touch.

And the part of Snape that would have kicked, screamed, and even succumbed to random acts of violence just to keep the illusion of privacy had seemingly gone on extended holiday, all for the intoxicating pleasure of this witch's genuine compassionate touch.

Even the part of him that protested she was a student simply fell to the wayside. It wasn't like he'd seduced her or that she had tried to catch his eye in class. They were thrown together by a violent, terrible (and most likely blood magic-infused) Dark spell.

And something had made the choice to save them. No, he distinctly remembered that something had asked him to join them, and he had agreed. But what was it? His brain was so fuzzy.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it had saved them both by— altering them somehow. No spell he knew of or had even theorised about, could do what had somehow drawn them into this peculiar in-between world, conscious, able to see and touch each other, but not directly touch the physical world.

Or  _could_ they?

Clothes had simply appeared when they wanted them. Maybe they were limited to what they could will and imagine.

"They're here, you know," Luna's voice broke up the Auror's squabbling as they tried to run traces. "You're not going to find anything using spells." She stood out from the gaggle of gossipy, whispering students huddled together in the corner.

"What are you talkin' about, lass?" Moody asked gruffly.

"They're in the Between," she said. "Neither here nor there. The place where thoughts become dreams and dreams reality. Where magic waits for will and intent to guide it."

"You're not making much sense, lass." Moody frowned. "You sound a lot like someone I know."

"They probably make more sense than you think," Luna said calmly. She looked over to where Snape and Hermione were standing. "If you want to seen, you have to  _want_ to be. If you want to touch something, you have to  _believe_ you can."

Moody, seeing the very intense look on Luna's face, gestured to the other Aurors and they quickly shooed the other students out.

"Alright, girlie. What are you seeing that we can't?" Moody asked.

"Professor Snape doesn't care too much for you," Luna informed him. "Hermione thinks you really shouldn't have told Auror Peters that he needed to wash his todger more often."

Moody flushed bright red, spluttering. "Alright, now say I want to believe you." He stood behind her. "How many fingers am I holding up behind you?"

Luna cocked her head curiously. "You're not. You're making a fist."

Moody narrowed his eyes. "Have them tell me something no one but them would know."

Luna turned to him, her face quite grave. "Professor Dumbledore lied to you. The moment he found out what the spell did, he knew exactly where it came from. He'd seen it once before— when Sirius Black tried to use it on Severus Snape back in 1977."

Luna's eyes flicked to the dueling platform. "Gregory Goyle stood there and took his time casting his spell because he knew Hermione couldn't move to defend herself. She had been hit with a blood curse earlier in the morning— disguised as a minor potions explosion. They got some of her blood, and they bound her with it when she arrived in DADA class."

Luna looked Moody in the eye. "Goyle stood right there, grinning as the ground swallowed their bodies, and told Harry Potter that if he said anything, he would make sure everyone knew the kind of books he was carrying around in his school bag."

Moody exchanged glances with the other Aurors. "Get me Kingsley Shacklebolt and Amelia Bones. Now. Tell them to bring the  _wierheid._ "

"Yes, sir!" the Aurors said, running full tilt out to the Apparition point.

* * *

"Holy Merlin's cracking kneecaps," Amelia gasped as she carefully maneuvered the  _wierheid_  glass into place. It looked like a great pane of glass, but it was actually magic-imbued quartz, polished to a high shine so fine that it was completely clear. She blew onto it, speaking the activation words, and the  _wierheid_  blazed to life, showing Professor Snape and Hermione Granger sitting side by side together on the floor.

"Well, shite," Moody said, sitting down hard.

Luna, who was already sitting cross-legged on the floor "talking" with Hermione, turned around to peer curiously at him. She said nothing, but there was a crystal clear "told you so" somewhere in that serene expression.

"Give me a few minutes to get into the meditation so I can hear you, please," Amelia announced. "I am not as highly gifted that I can do so like young Miss Lovegood."

The witch sat down before the glass and closed her eyes, putting herself in the lotus position as she cleared her mind and shifted gears and mental states. After a few minutes, she took in a deep breath and released it. "Alright, let's get started. Severus, Hermione, I will be submitting these memories to the Wizengamot to decide the proper course of action regarding this situation. That being said, there are certain questions I must ask in conjunction with the Aurors to determine exactly what  _did_ happen— as you recall it."

Snape's gaze was umbral, but Hermione nodded. She clenched his hand, and he took a deep, calming breath before nodding.

And so they proceeded to tell her everything she wanted to know…

* * *

After hours of attempting to manifest, an exhausted Hermione had curled up with her head in Snape's lap. His hand gently rested in her curls as he, too, gathered strength.

Luna shook her head. "You're trying like you used to," she said. "Your energy does not come from within. It comes from everything. You are trying like I would or one of your students."

Snape eyed Luna silently, saying nothing, but it was clear that he was protective of Hermione's rest, and he didn't appreciate being told by one of his "students" how to use magic.

Luna sighed. "I can tell you're overwhelmed by everything, but my mum had to adjust too, and I can save you a lot of conflict, if you'll let me. Please?"

Hermione stirred, her hand resting over Snape's. He narrowed his eyes and nodded after a few minutes. Hermione smiled at him.

"My mum died, you see," Luna explained, "but— she stayed around in the Between until I could go to school. She knew I was lonely, and daddy was too sad to notice most of the time. She could take forms to amuse me. But she wasn't quite like you. When I got older, she had to leave, but you don't have to. Somehow, you're not dead at all. You're still alive. You're pure magic— but with a memory of self. And it's that memory of self that is keeping you from being what you truly are."

Luna placed the goblet in front of her. "Pick it up because you  _believe_ you can.

Hermione exchanged glances with Severus and swallowed hard. She eyed the goblet and reached for it, and her fingers passed right through it. She stared at it for a long moment and then closed her eyes. Her shoulders straightened, and one hand clasped Snape's tightly. She reached out and picked up the goblet just before her entire body manifested with a  **FOOP!**

The sudden solidity of her existence startled her so much that she sent the goblet flying across the room and stumbled backwards, tripping with a cry of " _ **SHITE!".**_

**FWOOP!**

Severus was suddenly there too, quite solid, catching her in his embrace before she hit the ground, instinctively pulling her close to him. She clung to him, trembling and unsure, but determined to hold on to the one thing she felt she could rely on: him.

"Severus," she whispered.

"Stupid girl," he hissed at her, but his dark eyes softened as he brushed her curls from her face.

Amelia put a hand on Severus' shoulder. "I would highly recommend going to your quarters to sequester yourself until we can deal with the people who put you and Miss Granger in this position. Best they not know you are still alive— for now. I will send you an elf that reports only to me to bring you any supplies or food should you find you require it. Seeing as the house-elves here all report to the Headmaster— well, I'm sure you both understand why your not being seen is crucial at this point."

Severus nodded his agreement. "Thank you, Amelia," he said as both he and Hermione vanished before her eyes.

* * *

"You have such a beautiful room," Hermione said, her fingers brushing against the antique claw table. She stared at the walls of books lining the entire wall from top to bottom. "Amazing."

She turned to see Snape watching her carefully— silent as an owl in flight. "May I?" she asked, pointing to the books.

He nodded, watching to see what books truly attracted her fancy— and if learning what kind of books he had on his bookshelves would drive her away from him in disgust or fear.

Without there being others around, it seemed as though they now could stand apart— it wasn't so much uncomfortable as it was simply not preferable. He would feel more at ease when she was near, and when she was near, he much preferred he touching so the flow of their joined magic seemed "happiest." Part of his screamed that it was hardly natural to be so comfortable with the young witch just because of some magical accident, but the deep seated, chronically lonely man told that part of him to shut the hell up.

Fuzzy popped in and left tea and biscuits and a small obsidian statue from Amelia that seemed to reinforce his wards without altering them. Severus would have to ask her about it— when he got his brain back together.

Hermione looked at many of the different spines, her fingers running along them, feeling the leather on the bindings and closing her eyes— feeling the magic within the books rather than reading the labels. She stopped at an older tome that had been well worn but taken care of. She opened her eyes and gently wiggled the book out from the shelf, brushing its fine leather cover reverently. She walked back to where he was sitting on the couch and sat next to him, snuggling up to him until their magic sang in sweet relief, and she opened the book up and began to read silently.

He sat there, stunned, for not only had she come back and intentionally snuggled up to him, but she was reading  _Magical Intent: A Comprehensive Study of Light and Dark Magic_ — and she had flipped to the index and then found  _Wild Magicks: Dark Not Evil._

Where was the annoying hand-waving know-it-all who blurted out book knowledge without thinking about it first? When had she become a thoughtful, considerate young woman who knew enough to ask before touching someone else's library and yet still had the audacity to snuggle up to— well,  _HIM_.

 _Not that you're pushing her away_ , the traitorous skeptic within him hissed.

"Please don't," she said quietly, turning the page. "I quite enjoy your touch."

Snape's eyes widened.

"I realise this isn't exactly a normal way of going about a relationship," she said calmly. "Normally, I'd be a nervous wreck— but it feels right, don't you think?"

Why wasn't he a nervous wreck waiting to explode? Where was his venom? His rancor?

If he thought of Albus, it was right there out in front.

If he thought of his dunderheaded students, he was instantly angry.

But  _her—_ gods.

His hand was on her cheek as his fingers tangled in her wild curls. His forehead touched hers, and he could feel the sweet song of magic as well as hear it entangled with the sounds of their magic thumping like hearts in their chests. Human or not, it felt real. If felt right.

He had emotions.

He could feel the silken softness of her skin, the tickle of her "breath." Was that not real enough? Human enough? Living enough?

He could have not saved her. He could have let bloody Goyle cast his spell and feigned it as being necessary for the ruse, but he hadn't. Why?

Memories, unbidden, rushed forward of how Hermione Granger was treated poorly by her "peers" and how they talked about her behind her back. Her best friends mostly used her as a homework aide, scoffing at her the rest of the time, never realising just how much she did for them. He'd seen her crying after the Yule Ball, shunned by her best friends and then too ashamed to go back to her date, Viktor Krum, in tears. He'd seen her crush on Ronald Weasley evolve into a want for real relationship only to crash and burn as surely as a certain enchanted car into the Whomping Willow when she realised that what she wanted he couldn't give. He could  _never_ be her equal— a challenge to keep her mind sharp.

She didn't deserve their scorn.

He'd hurt her too. He knew that. While he had to, a part of him knew that he was no saint, either. He, at least, had a reason to put on the Slytherin bastard mask. What excuse did her peers have to treat her like rubbish to be cast aside when better opportunities came by?

Even sodding Potter— he'd apparently been harbouring Dark spellbooks in his bookbag, and she hadn't known anything about it. She wasn't an idiot or unobservant, so he could only imagine what was going on in the boy's head to make him think learning blood "cleansing" magic was a good idea.

Severus flinched. Somehow, he'd come to care for her, and that care had manifested in throwing himself into the breach to defend her.

It may have not been some foolhardy hallucination of love, but he had— cared enough to do something to try and help her.

And  _now_ what?

Her hands had left the book, having gently placed it on the nearby table. She touched his face, cupping his cheeks in her palms, exploring the feel of him with her own senses. She looked into his black eyes and smiled shyly.

In all his years he had never had someone look at him like that.

Interest. Openness. Desire to know him better. Even after having shared some of his memories, she still wanted to get to know him like a "normal" person would.

Lily had cut him off for one word misspoken on the absolute  _worst_ day of his life. Oh, she had said it was because he wouldn't give up his Slytherin Death Eater buddies, but it was almost as if she had just been looking for an excuse to torture him and run straight to bloody James Potter. Admittedly, he'd eventually done worse by inadvertently causing her murder— but he often wondered if he would have ever gone through with it had he not been so determined to distance himself from Lily and her memory.

If he had had someone like Hermione in his corner, someone who's very touch promised a future— even if it was only a lifetime of friendship— he knew he'd never have taken the Mark. He would have stood by her until his very last breath. Because she would have given him everything she was— as a friend, a lover, or wife. That was just who she was.

And what did he have to offer one with so much to give?

What could he possibly give the witch who had suffered so much at his very hand?

Her lips brushed against his, soft like velvet, answering his question with a question of her own. He felt the gentle brush of her tongue against his lips, and he felt the song of magic rise between them.

He was no longer her teacher.

She was no longer a child.

Magic may have bound them, but she was announcing her choice. And she was awaiting his answer.

Magic called to magic.

She called to him as clearly as a siren to the sailors on the sea.

He opened his mouth to her, welcoming her into the heat of the pent up passion he had never been allowed to show to anyone. Tendrils of magic were swirling around them as they explored the other, hand to hand, hands to cheek, shoulder—

He pulled away, giving her a desperate, pained look.

"Hermione—"

She looked up at him, pain in her eyes. He felt it— her pain of rejection, failure, disappointment.

"Are you sure—" he whispered raggedly. "I need you to be sure that this is what you really want. That you truly want… me."

She rubbed her shoulders with her hands, and he could feel her spiral downwards, thinking that she was unattractive, unwanted, unskilled.

"Hermione," he gently touched her chin, looking into her eyes. His mouth worked, trying to find the words and failing utterly. "If I allow myself to let you in… to care for you— I will not be able to let you go. If you do not want that— the very flawed, possessive, difficult man that I am. I beg you to stop here, and we will find another way to make this bond we have work."

"I am a weak, needy, wanting man, Hermione," he whispered. "I cannot promise you perfection— nor do I expect it of you."

Hermione touched his cheek, weaving her hands into his hair. "It's you that I want," she said. "Not some perfect Gilderoy Lockhart whose teeth outshine the sun and whose brains lost their way somewhere where Cornwall meets Wales."

Severus flinched. "He's hardly perfection."

"You are brilliant, cutting, and sometimes hurtful, but under that you are curious, wounded, desiring more than you have been dealt," Hermione said. "You lash out because you don't want to risk allowing anyone close to you, but you are more than what you allow people to see."

Severus touched her neckline, running his hand against her skin. "You are more than your peers ever see. Kind when you should take your knee to them— helpful when you know, deep down, they are using you. You care, even when they do not. And that tiniest speck of appreciation they might give, powers you for days."

Hermione smiled humorlessly. "I trust Headmasters too."

"Do you still?"

"I trust you."

"I can't imagine why," he replied, wincing. "I have not treated you kindly."

"You risked your life for me," Hermione whispered. "That tells me more than a few unkind words or even a few cruelties given while eyes are watching you."

"I still hurt you."

"People hurt people. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes through ignorance, sometimes for no reason at all. Do you regret it?" her eyes glinted like fire whisky in the light of a hearth, flicking with magic.

"More than you know," he said, hanging his head and closing his eyes. Feeling the same echo of regret he had after saying just one word to a witch who had been his closest friend for years. This pain was different. This pain he felt inside himself was from having sabotaged a kind, wonderful young witch, who had grown into a woman without any of the kindness she deserved.

And he had done her ill, knowing she deserved better.

The soft caress of her lips brushed against his mouth once more as she breathed into his mouth. "I choose you, Severus. If you are to care for anyone, I want it, selfishly, to be me."

Severus gave a choking moan. "You're mad," he said, capturing her with his mouth and engaging in the snog of all snogs that left her and him breathless. "Damn if it doesn't feel like I'm breathing," he whispered.

Hermione, eyes half-lidded, rubbed against him, her cheek sliding against his as her arms moved up so she could cradle his head and draw him to her chest. Suddenly their clothes were missing in action, and he gave a tortured groan as the temptation of her breasts undid every bit of restraint he had been trying to hold on to as his mouth met her areola.

Hermione gave a strangled cry, her hands clawed into his hair. She squirmed under him as feelings she had never felt coursed through her body like electric. Magic was swirling from their bodies, their bodies becoming almost translucent as the energy crackled between them. Tendrils swirled, weaving around from her to him and him to her. They tightened together as the couple slowly explored each other and their passion rose. Magic pulsed as their bodies merged, and the magic bound tighter, tighter as each cord wrapped so close that it became solid as one. Brightness radiated from where their cores would be, escaping from their bodies as a pulse. It built between then, joining together, condensing, merging, and—

They both let out a mutual scream of completion as they became one, and a leyline was born at that very moment, arching up out from their joined "bodies" as it wove into the very fabric of Hogwarts and took its place with the others.

The power of Hogwarts pulsed— once, twice, three times— as the wards that had been lying dormant flared to life. Stone gargoyles burst to life with roars, free of their stone prisons to guard their home once more. And far above, the great dragon of Hogwarts— having been missing for so long they had forgotten that the Hogwarts motto had not exactly come from a vacuum— rose up high above the parapets and roared, taking its place as Hogwarts' largest and most fearsome guardian— having been trapped in the Between and unable to return until the magic returned to Hogwarts— magic as it  _should_ have been. Magic as it had always been, until someone or something had decided to tamper with it.

As the dragon screamed its clarion call of protection, Hogwarts shuddered, and deep within the Room of Forgotten Things, a diadem burst into flames as a cloud of foul blackness billowed out and was immediately greeted by a pack of gargoyles that tore into it, shredding it to pieces both on the physical plane and beyond.

And then the diadem returned to its proper place, the head of Rowena's statue in the Founder's Hall.

The dragon roared again, and the goblet of Helga Hufflepuff returned to the hand of Helga's statue, another foul cloud of evil vapour exiting the cup to meet the same, gargoyle-rended fate.

Then, a second dragon pulled itself out of the Between, entwining necks with the first. She let out a great roar as a number of young dragonets fell out of the Between to gather at their feet. They added their voices to the cry, as one, prolonged united roar, and the locket of Salazar Slytherin returned "home" to settle around Salazar's stone neck— even as the cloud of noxious, blackened, soul came billowing out.

The oldest gargoyle of Hogwarts, having left his post by the Headmaster's office for one task alone, tore into the black cloud with fangs and claws as magic curled around the cloud and twisted, squeezing. The gargoyle ripped the soul cloud to pieces, and it shrieked in impotent fury before it could hold itself together no more as the very wards of Hogwarts did exactly what they were designed to do— and vapourised it.

In Gryffindor tower, Harry thrashed in his sleep, crying out in agony. He bolted awake only to be frozen in place in fear as gargoyles and dragonlings sat at the foot of his bed, glowing eyes and terrible claws and fangs exposed. He was paralysed in fear, unable to move as they leapt towards him together—

The gargoyles gathered around Dumbledore's desk as one drawer jiggled and pitched, spewing forth the ring of Marvolo Gaunt onto the floor. The ring spun as if possessed, trying to escape the encroaching wards of the school, but another ley line took its place in Hogwarts, then the wards flared even greater. The ring burst into flames as the cloud fled its confinement, desperate to escape and find another vessel.

But the gargoyles immediately leapt upon it, tearing it to pieces as it screamed its last.

Fingers of eldritch vapour picked up the cleansed ring and vanished with it as Albus Dumbledore suddenly bolted awake in his chambers in the next room. Yet only darkness and silence greeted him with a strange, eerie calmness.

* * *

Harry awoke in the infirmary with a very concerned-looking Madam Pomfrey tending to him.

"Mr Potter, thank goodness," she said, giving him a glass of water. "Drink please, you've been sweating so much I think you may be dehydrated."

Harry obeyed, dizzy and slightly confused. "Madam Pomfrey? Why am I here?"

"You woke the entire Gryffindor tower with your screams, young man. You had to be Stupefied and levitated here because you were fighting everyone who tried to get to you."

"I— oh," Harry said blearily, unsure what to say to that. "I don't remember that at all."

Poppy tutting over him. "Well, no lasting harm done. You gave Mr Weasley a good black eye and a swift kick that will probably leave the boy singing soprano for quite a while, but nothing that won't heal in time."

Harry automatically flinched in male sympathy.

"Now that you are awake, my dear, I'm afraid you'll need to speak with Auror Moody. Not too long now, as I'm wanting you to get a proper rest. There are no telling what other side effects you have now that your scar is gone."

Harry's hands instinctively flew to his forehead. "My…"

Poppy gave him another glass of water. "Make sure you drink all of this now," she said and walked away, even as the gruff and leather-clad Alastor Moody brooded his way forward to plunk himself down in the chair next to him.

"I'm going to presume that the book you were carrying around that Mr Goyle got his hands on did not have anything to do with forcible removal of your scar, Mr Potter."

Harry swallowed hard. "No, sir."

"And where did you get this book, Mr Potter?"

Harry looked out the window, his face scrunching up. "It was supposed to help me find a way to defeat You-Know-Who."

"But where did you get the book, Mr Potter?"

Harry fidgeted nervously.

"Potter."

Harry looked anywhere but into Moody's face. "I—"

Moody wasn't going anywhere, and his tenacity had always been, even when it hadn't really been him, akin to the grip of a starving pitbull or a highly-excited crocodile with the leg of a wildebeest trapped in his jaws.

"Headmaster Dumbledore gave it to me, sir," Harry finally admitted in an almost-whisper. "He told me the spell would work specifically on You-Know-Who."

Moody stared at him, boring a hole into the back of his head. "The Headmaster—  _ **he**_ gave you the book?"

Harry nodded with a sharp jerk of his head. "I was studying it before I had to— uh, leave, sir. To find the Horcruxes."

"And how did this book end up in the hands of Gregory Goyle, Potter?"

Harry shook his head wildly. "I don't  _ **know!**_ "

Moody shifted his weight in his seat and grunted. "Mr Potter, what is your personal opinion of Miss Granger?"

Harry immediately looked like he was going to either cry or punch someone, perhaps both. "She was my best friend, and I didn't always treat her right. I preferred Quidditch to studying, and I hated how she always insisted that I study before Quidditch— she was so bossy and acted like she knew everything. But I didn't ever want to see her  _ **die**_ like that!"

Moody frowned, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. "What did you see that day?"

"The ground seemed to swallow 'Mione and Snape up— a swirling void of total darkness, like a maw leading into the deep gullet of some enormous monster."

"What happened before that?"

"She just stood there. She looked terrified." Harry winced. "I saw her trying to move but she couldn't. "Snape seemed to realise it— he rushed over to shield her. But the spell cut right through his shield like tissue paper. They were bleeding all over each other. And then bloody Goyle— he smirked and threw something on them, saying they were nothing but beasts. And that was when… when— that blackness swallowed them both."

"A potion?"

"I don't know. It looked like— blood."

Moody scowled. "Are you aware of what happens when someone casts blood magic and the target bleeds and then additional blood is added to it?"

Harry shook his head.

"No one does—" Moody said darkly. "It is like inviting raw Chaos to a ruddy inventory party at the Ministry."

Moody sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes with his fingers.

"And your friend, Weasley. What does  _ **he**_ think of Hermione Granger?"

"Ron?" Harry trailed off. "Well, they get on like fire in a library, mostly," he said.

"Hold a grudge, does he?"

"Well yeah, but we all do."

"Against Miss Granger?"

Harry frowned. "I don't think so. No! It was Goyle who did it!"

Moody stared him in the eyes. "Who gave Goyle the book, Potter? Was it you?"

"No!"

"Who else had access to it?"

"No one, it was in my bag the entire—"

Harry abruptly went pale. "No, it couldn't be. He wouldn't have. He wasn't mad at 'Mione at the time. He was brassed off at  _ **me**_ because I wouldn't show him what was in my bag."

Moody cracked his knuckles. "The Wizengamot has told us to treat this incident as a double murder, Mr Potter. I'm sure I do not have to tell you the gravity of this situation you are in. So tell me honestly, do you think Ronald Weasley could have intentionally taken your book from your bag and put it into Mr Goyle's hands, either directly or indirectly?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Yes," he whispered.

"Are there any other books that Dumbledore gave you?"

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"In my trunk in our dorm room."

"Will you take me to them?"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, "Yes."

* * *

Harry stood by the  _wierheid_  and stumbled backward from it. " _ **Hermione!"**_

She was obviously speaking, but he could not hear her.

Snape was standing right next to her, looking just as ominous as ever. He took Hermione's hand, and she looked up at him with such trust that Harry felt like he was looking at something private. They walked to the glass together— and then stepped out of it.

Magic crackled around them and off them, and for a moment, Hermione looked at her own hands as if doubting how real they were.

" _ **You're alive!"**_  Harry exclaimed joyfully.

Hermione's face wrinkled. "Yes."

"And no," Snape said.

Harry shook his head in confusion. "What do you  _mean_ yes and no?"

"It was a very Dark spell that Goyle used, Harry," Hermione explained quietly.

"Designed to force dirty blood from the body," Snape said, his arms crossing across his chest. "Though, you can imagine what the implications are if so-called "dirty blood" was merely blood, Mr Potter. If there was truly no difference at all."

"The magic forced the blood out of our bodies," Hermione said, "and then the blood reacted to the Dark magic."

"And then Mr Goyle threw mixed beast blood into the mix, cocking the situation up even further."

Hermione's eyes widened at Snape's unusually coarse language, but she didn't disagree with him, either. "We effectively  _died_ , Harry, but—"

"The magic inherent in the surrounding area needed us to bridge its way back to Hogwarts. We became magic to make a path that allowed magic back into the area— the school and grounds."

"But—" Harry stammered. "The school is already magical!"

"Not as magical as it should have been," Snape said, a strange dance of green magic flickered in his eyes.

"Ever wondered  _why_ so many horrible things keep happening here and why our teachers must always watch over us so tirelessly to keep us from killing each other by accident?" Hermione asked. "Hagrid said that Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain— and yet Professor Quirrell walked right on in with a Dark Lord on the back of his head, unicorns get murdered in the forest, a huge Basilisk repeatedly attacks students in the school, another student is possessed by a diary-Horcrux, Hagrid gets away with releasing a homicidal Acromantula into the forest AND then bringing in a mate for it, someone Imperiused students right on school grounds, crafted a Portkey and made it kidnap students right off the school grounds, sending them to their deaths—"

"Does  _that_ sound very safe to you, Potter?" Snape said, his lip curling.

"Did any of the dangers we faced in the last six-odd years seem a little too dangerous for a supposedly safe magical school, Harry?" Hermione asked. "A little odd that there was only one gargoyle in the castle, the one guarding the Headmaster's office? That our school motto is "don't poke the sleeping dragon" and yet there were no dragons around?"

Harry twitched and made a face. "I just figured—"

"What all the rest of us did, Harry," Hermione said. "We just thought it was perfectly normal."

"But why are you holding hands with Snape?!" Harry blurted out, visibly uncomfortable with the situation.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look, nodded to Snape, and then let go of his hand.

They disappeared into thin air without a sound.

"Hermione!  _ **NO!"**_  Harry waved his hands around, as if feeling around for them. "I'm sorry! Don't… please come back!"

Suddenly they were there again, her hand in Snape's once more. Hermione was leaning into him, and he had his arm around her in a protective, even possessive embrace. His dark eyes glowered daggers at Harry, as if daring him to say something stupid again.

"It takes a lot of magic to manifest a physical form, Harry," Hermione explained. "And all the magic is being used to heal and fix the parts of Hogwarts that have been damaged over the last few centuries. Until that has been completed and the weave fully restored, touching is the only way to guarantee we can manifest tangibly to those not attuned to us."

The roar of a distant dragon shook the walls, and the magic of Hogwarts seemed to flare and readjust as a stampede of baby gargoyles trampled by chasing a dragonet.

Harry looked down at the floor of Snape's quarters. "So, it was Hogwarts that took away my scar?"

Hermione wasn't speaking anymore. She was looking tired, almost transparent. She snuggled into Snape's robes, wrapping her arms around him.

"Rest," Snape said, his pale hand on her curls. "I will explain."

Snape looked at him. "Yes, the returning magic empowered the wards, and with the return of the wards, the castle guardians also returned to their rightful places. The wake of power returning purified all that which did not belong within the boundaries of the school and surrounding grounds."

Harry clenched his fists, willing himself to try and understand it all instead of getting angry. "And what does that make you and Hermione?"

"Caretakers," Snape said. "We insure that what happened here does not happen again."

"You care for the school then."

"No."

Harry jerked his head up.

"We care for the  _magic_ , making sure it is never redirected selfishly or stolen from Hogwarts again."

"But not just Hogwarts," Hermione said softly into Snape's buttons. "There are many magical places that are in desperate need of reinforcement, healing, and, well, magic. Once this place is back to the way it should be, we will be drawn away to those other areas."

"How do you know this?" Harry asked.

"It's in the song, Mr Potter," Snape said, his eyes closing. "Only now, we are finally open enough to hear it clearly."

"Song?" Harry questioned.

Hermione stepped away from Severus, keeping her hand within his. She reached out one hand and placed it lightly over his face.

Harry let out a cry of anguished pleasure as he suddenly heard the singing of all the magic around him— whispering, singing, calling to each other. Some cried out in neglect while others sang in joyous reunion. He felt the empty places, crying for magic. He felt the magical places sounding off with blissful completion. He could hear the gargoyles thrum as they guarded their places, the dragons croon as they tended their dragonlings— the drake tearing into the forest's Acromantula nest and carrying them back to feed his hungry mate and offspring, the jenny welcoming him home with her own distinctive magical song. He could hear the centaur weaving tales about the stars— feeling how the cosmos connected them with their Earthen nature magic. The forest whispered of its own song, the lake, the distant sea—

Harry pulled away, tears streaming down his face. He looked at Hermione with such anguish. "How can you bear it?"

Hermione's expression was tender but sad. "It is not a song meant for mere mortals, Harry."

"It was a choice we made to span the door between life and death," Severus said.

Hermione tilted her head, listening intently. "Others were given the same choice, Harry. Most chose to move on to the next life beyond the Veil. Others stayed behind to haunt the castle instead of help. We chose this union of magic, and it gifted us with each other, that we may never be alone in this great task."

Harry closed his eyes, the whisper of the song still lingering. "Can I please hug you?"

Hermione smiled. "Of course, Harry."

Harry wrapped his arms around his friend, pressing his face into her familiar bushy curls. "I am so sorry this happened to you, Hermione. You may have chosen it, but I—"

Hermione put a gentle finger to his lips. "You are not the one who wrote that terrible book, Harry. Only they can be truly blamed for this situation. Goyle was just a cruel, selfish boy raised on pureblood supremacist ideals and self-preservation of that lifestyle above all else. You had the book because someone you trusted gave it to you. Ask yourself how Dumbledore came upon that book, and why he thought a blood purity-based Dark spell would somehow help you against the Dark Lord."

Harry frowned and twitched as he thought, a sure tell that he was making a serious effort at thinking hard about something rather than just pretending to.

"I know I've seen other books like that one," he whispered. "But where?"

He sat down on the floor with his legs crossed. He thumped his head down in his own lap in a slump. "Where have I seen it? Was it a dream? No. No I remember— think Harry. Think."

He clawed his hands out, rumpling Snape's rug with his hands. Suddenly he shot up, his eyes wide. "I saw books like that at Grimmauld Place. It was at one of the Order meetings. Behind Sirius. I was looking, and he—"

Harry's face twisted in agony. "He quickly stepped in front of them, closing the bookshelf, smiling. Telling me there was nothing there but some dusty old rubbish from his family."

Snape's expression was absolutely murderous. "Does  _that_ give you enough information to get a warrant, Auror Moody?"

Moody, who had been sitting silently with Amelia in the chairs before the hearth, grunted. "Aye, Severus. It certainly does."

A gnarly-looking old badger Patronus went flying off somewhere almost too fast to see.

Moody stood and approached. He was biting his lip, but then he squared his shoulders and stuck out his hand. "I'm sorry, Severus, for never believing you. I always believed Albus but never you. And now— I think I've been trusting the wrong one for far longer than I care to admit. You may be a right bastard, Snape, but— you did a hell of lot more than most of us did for a cause we could barely even see. And— you paid for it with your life, well, your physical one. Close enough for me. For what it's worth, I am sorry for having judged you harshly and never once considering that change is possible."

Severus and Moody clasped hands, and green fire flashed across his black eyes. "I did not exactly make it easy for you, Alastor."

"Or anyone," Hermione quipped, earning her a sharp glare.

Harry looked at his feet guiltily, having not trusted Snape in any way, shape, or form at any point in his Hogwarts career.

"Sir?"

Snape eyed Harry with suspicion but nodded. "Yes, Mr Potter?"

"I'm sorry too. When I saw those memories, I should have— I should have realised my father and his mates weren't as perfect as I thought they were, but I was blind. I needed to believe they were better. They died for me. I wanted, needed, to believe they were good people that I would have the kind of parents I'd always dreamed of." Harry sighed. "I don't know what you're going to find at Grimmauld. I don't know if my father was involved or not, but— I want the truth now. I need to know. More than ever before."

Snape narrowed his eyes and sighed. "The truth sometimes, Mr Potter, is a lot like war. It is not always beautiful, sparing of the innocent, or even honourable. It is sometimes a point of view between good and evil, light and darkness. And the truth for you, Mr Potter, is that even if your father and his friends did craft a truly terrible thing , it does not mean they did not care for you in some way— enough to die for you. It does not make their terrible deeds any less terrible, but it also doesn't make their care for you any less genuine. Perhaps, had they lived, your parents may have become the ones you dreamed of, for just as Mr Moody has a most aptly demonstrated, people can and  _do_ change."

Harry nodded his head, his lips pressed firmly together in fierce determination. His eyes were quivering with emotion as he realised that his opinion of Severus Snape had changed too. "Please, sir. Take good care of Hermione. She deserves— so much better than what we gave her. And sometimes, you don't realise how important some things are and how good you've had it until it's gone."

Severus closed his eyes briefly and then nodded once more. "I will, Mr Potter. She may have been a part of your world, but she is now all of mine."

Harry looked at his best friend. "Are you happy, Hermione?"

Hermione smiled at him. "I am, Harry."

Harry hugged her tightly, ignoring Snape's frown as he ended up half hugging him so the connection between Snape and Hermione didn't break. Severus looked as if he might spontaneously combust and vomit at the same time at the sheer horror of it all, but Hermione just smiled warmly at him and mouthed the words, "thank you" without a sound.

"Take care of yourself too, Harry," Hermione said kindly as the pair began to fade. "I hold you at no fault of anything but placing your trust in the wrong person. And that is a very human mistake, unworthy of a lifetime of scorn."

Harry saw them through the  _wierheid_ as Snape lay Hermione down on the couch before the crackling fire. A roly-poly gargoyle pup hopped up and cuddled up next to her, wedging its head under her arm and closing its eyes. Snape sat in the plush armchair across from her, his fingers steepled in thought as he stared solemnly into the flames.

* * *

The musty halls of Grimmauld Place were like closed wardrobes that had not been opened in untold decades. Had there been moths fluttering about, it would have seemed even more so. Kreacher was protesting the opening of the windows and the multitude of quickly cast cleansing charms that literally picked up every single grain of dust and forcibly vacated it from the house out the windows in a hazy gush of foul, stuffy nastiness. Harry, however, asked Kreacher to desist at once, feeling so very weary that all he had left of his hope for something better was the suspicion that those he had idolised had been instrumental in the death of his best friend that he, himself, should have appreciated far more than he had while she'd been alive.

_**Barroof!** _

The gargoyle pup sniffed around at his feet, tearing off into the depths of the house— on loan from Hogwarts. Kreacher attempted to throw himself in front of everything the pup was so vigorously sniffing at, but the pup used his head as a plough and simply knocked him out of the way.

Harry was not sure  _why_ Kreacher refused to actually clean the house and keep it in good repair, instead allowing it to stagnant in time. Surely any respect for it would have had him doing otherwise, keeping it perfectly pristine.

Without the dust, the place actually looked somewhat liveable—a time capsule, perhaps, but liveable.

Kreacher, however, was still beating on himself in an effort to prevent any further disturbance of the house, and Harry started to suspect there was something here that he was missing.

"Kreacher," Harry said.

The house-elf glowered at him. "Yes, Master?"

"Did someone order you to keep this place a dump?"

Kreacher twitched. "Yes, Master."

"Who?"

Kreacher's lip curled. "Master Sirius."

"You follow me now, yes?"

"Yes," Kreacher hissed.

"I release you for whatever orders that Sirius gave you."

Kreacher fell over on his back, literally, his eyes so wide as he took in a ragged, deep breath. "...  _thank_ you, Master." His hands wriggled, and a powerful blast of house-elf magic blew through the house, making everything as pristine as a museum— spotless, fresh, and preserved. A cool breeze blew through, and the portraits—

The main portrait wasn't screaming anymore.

"Kreacher, are you alright?" Harry asked, truly concerned for the little fellow.

"Yes, Master," he said, a strange lack of strain over his entire body. "Kreacher been holding back for so long."

"Boy," the main portrait said— the stern face of Walburga Black addressed him.

"Mrs Black," Harry said cautiously, walking up to her frame.

"You released the hold on Kreacher?"

"Yes, Mrs Black."

Her painted eyes narrowed. "Thank you."

She said nothing more, turning away to look more like an actual portrait.

"Ma'am?"

She looked back at him.

"What hold did Kreacher have over you?"

"He was commanded to keep the house the way my eldest son desired it, so it would appear just as he wanted. He and his horrid, cocky best mate. Looked a lot like you, boy. Save for the eyes."

Harry swallowed hard. "Why would they want this place to look— have you act like you did?"

The woman in the portrait curled her lip. "It is hard to look like the black sheep of the family when your family and house does not live up to the reputation."

Harry's eyes widened. "But, you burned him off the family tree!"

The elder witch snorted. "My father's father built this home, boy. I would not put my wand to it in any way that defaced their memories."

The truth started to settle in on Harry, and he sat down on the floor, slumping.

"Boy."

Harry looked up.

"Look behind my portrait."

Harry struggled to stand up, feeling less than apt at doing anything. He tugged at the frame, and to his surprise it lifted right up— defying the supposed permanent sticking charm Sirius had always claimed had been placed upon it. There was a latch there, and he touched it— a panel moving over to expose a pile of very familiar, eerily bound books.

"Auror Moody!" Harry cried, his voice ringing out in the house. "You need to see this right now!"

* * *

_James and I have come up with a series of spells to rid ourselves of Snivellus' hindrance to our lives. James is tired of waiting on Lily to see what a prize he is, and we're both tired of Snivellus' constant hounding of us to find us guilty of doing something he can report us for._

_Most of these spells are not what we need. One of them makes you hold a grudge forever, but that's useless. He already hates us forever. We tested it on that stuffy old Auror Moody, who is as paranoid as sin, but we can't tell if it even worked. Moody didn't really like Snape anyway, so we can't tell the difference. Still, we recorded it in case it would be useful for later._

_Dumbledore has been letting us play around with our spells, thinking them mere boyish pranks. Some old gratitude to the Potter family for doing him some service back in the day. Fine with us. I know the old man doesn't like_ _**my** _ _family in the slightest. Dad won't even let him in the house, and mum just screams bloody murder at him about 'not in the house of her father's father' and all that rot. I think old Dumbledore wants the house for something involving the war. He wants all the protections dad put on it. James and I think that if we can arrange to have the place given to him, he could be in our debt too. Worth thinking about, anyway._

_We're working on a spell unlike the others. We're taking some of the old family blood-preservation magic from both his and my old grimoires and making it work for us. Snivellus fancies himself some half-blood prince or something bloody stupid like that, but we're thinking, if he's really a half-blood, that means half of his blood is just as Muggle and muddy as the very people he scorns. It would be such a pity if a blood cleansing spell would prove he wasn't like the rest of Slytherin, right in front of all his Death Eater mates. Maybe even the Dark Lord, whoever he is, will murder him himself._

_To make the grimoire to hold that spell, though, I'm going to have to find a Muggle bitch to flay alive for her for her skin to bind the book. It's the only thing that will hold that kind of Dark intent stable for proper blood magic. Thank the Old Ways for that little tidbit. Oh well, I did it for these grimoires, and I can do it again. Only thing bloody Muggles are good for, anyway. At least Lily has magic enough to redeem her sorry arse as the spawn of pathetic Muggle stock ._

_Well, I'll have to get started with making the next grimoire so it can be bound and ready by the next full moon. We can throw the body in with Moony after we're done and he can flog himself for having attacked a Muggle as a ruddy beast. He'd never tell anyone either. He's far too guilty._

* * *

_Bother, the spell is ready to be tested, and all the information is in the new grimoire, but Dumbledore says something is going down tomorrow and we have to get Prongs and Lily to safety. Damn me for telling them to swear Wormtail to keep their secret just so I'd have more days to finish up the spell. Fuck!_

_I'm going to have to track down Wormtail and find Prongs and Lily so we can get them out of wherever they are. Moony is already on the run, thinking he murdered that stupid Muggle bitch. Useless!_

_I'm going to leave the grimoire somewhere Dumbledore can find it in case something should happen to us. Maybe he'll even use it and prove to the world that he's not nearly as Light as he claims to be. Either way, he'll realise you have to fight Dark with Dark to win. Worst case, he realises that he's been supporting Dark magic this entire time. Either way works for me._

* * *

End of Chapter One


	2. The Reckoning

**Beta Love** : The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard

 **Disclaimer:**  JKR's stuff is still JKR's stuff, and I'm still playing in her sandbox.

* * *

**Now You See Me, Now You Don't**

**Chapter 2**

"Headmaster Dumbledore, after reviewing the journals, memories, interviews, and traces of magic, the Wizengamot has decided that you are unfit to remain in your position as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are to be remanded to Azkaban until the full sentence is determined for your decision to deliberately place magic of an untested Dark nature into the hands of then-minor, the aiding and abetting of malicious magical mischief within the school, manipulation of the school's magical weave so such acts could occur, and causing untold amounts of danger to the students by depriving the castle of its natural protective magic and guardians."

"Do you have anything to say for yourself before you are taken away to Azkaban?"

"No! This isn't right! This is Albus Dumbledore! He protects Hogwarts! He protects our children!" Molly Weasley protested from the seating, even as Arthur tried in vain to get her to sit back down.

Just as the ruckus caused by Molly became even more shrill, the roof of the room shattered and tumbled down from the effect of a powerful, destructive spell. There was a flash of fire and wings and a fiery explosion, and when the dust settled, Dumbledore was gone.

Alastor Moody stood, his wand still raised, his eyes glassy, vacant and staring blankly.

Someone tackled Moody as the rest of the ceiling came crashing down and screams came from all around. The Wizengamot screamed as the upper wall gave way as well, disintegrating into rubble, as it was discovered that the spell that had carried away Dumbledore had also made it impossible for those within to Apparate to safety.

_**Crack!** _

_**Crrkrkk!** _

_**Crackle!** _

Energy arched in magical lines weaving together as two figures stood in the middle of the room, their bodies crafted of concentrated magic. Leylines flexed and moved out from them as a wizard and a witch fully materialised in the midst of total chaos.

Snape threw his hand out, his fingers twisting into complex gestures, the other clasped with Hermione's. Hermione used her free hand to gather threads of magic and weave them together and throw them out, one by one. The cords moved into place like the backbone of a basket, as Snape's magical lines wove between them, creating a fine mesh. The mesh pushed outward as a great, magical wyrm, its body like the great coils of Jörmungandr, wrapping around the sides of the room to keep it from caving in and killing all those trapped within.

Snape and Hermione stood like statues, their bodies frozen in place in the middle of the room.

" _Run,"_  Snape said, his voice a hiss.

The Wizengamot fled out the doors between the coils of the great magical serpent, even as eldritch vapours picked up the still bodies and carried them out of the room, shoving them out the doors of the courtroom. When all the bodies had been removed, Snape and Hermione exchanged nods, and they and the serpent vanished into thin air as the entire room collapsed in one great, thunderous boom.

* * *

As Hermione and Severus' hands touched each side of Alastor's face, the glassy, far-away look faded, and he began to look around.

"The  _hell?_ " he grunted. "What happened here?"

Amelia gave him a sad look. "You were hit with a powerful Imperius curse, my friend."

His craggy face twisted in anger. "Where is Dumbledore?"

"Gone," Amelia said. "You gave him back his wand, and when Molly Weasley caused a distraction, you brought the whole ceiling down upon us."

Alastor's hands trembled in barely restrained fury. "Did anyone die?"

Amelia shook her head. "No. Our friends here saved everyone— gave them just enough time to escape and pull the wounded out along with them."

Alastor slumped in clear relief. "Thank the gods for that."

Amelia sighed. "Are you feeling better, you two?"

Hermione and Severus nodded. "The leylines here were glad to provide an assist, fortunately." Their bodies were fading in and out of solidity, but they seemed to get a bit more solid as time went on. Flares of magic were traveling in and out of them, helping refresh them with each touch.

"You've been cleared of any involvement, Alastor. The Imperius was quite tenacious, and it didn't take much to realise it had been triggered rather than cast today."

Moody slammed his fist down angrily, but said nothing. "I should have—"

Amelia put a consoling hand on his shoulder. "No, old friend. I don't think you could have. "For all we know, that spell has been on you for years, just waiting for the trigger. For all we know, any member of the original Order you were in could be wired with the very same Imperius trigger."

Severus' expression darkened. "Minerva may be affected by it. She's worked with him the longest, and she has always been unusually trusting of him."

Alastor grunted. "Bring her in, but— make it seem like all tea and crumpets, Amelia. It needs to seem— perfectly normal. Get her here and seal her in a place we can strip her of any spells. I'm sure the Wizengamot will have no problem with giving us the authorisation, especially after what just happened."

"No, they will not," Amelia agreed.

"Amelia?"

"Yes?"

"Have Potter tell his elf to watch over that place he knows about."

Amelia narrowed her eyes, but then seemed to put the pieces together. "As you wish, Alastor. Rest a bit, and I mean it. Here, with these two. If anything else triggers, I want them here to remove it immediately."

Alastor nodded in assent. "Aye. I'll stay put."

A gargoyle pup lay his head on Alastor's knee and whuffed.

The old Auror lay his hand on the pup's head and rubbed his hears. "Just my pride, laddie," he said to the pup. "Nothing some wrinkled old wizard on a plate won't fix. Preferably with the Dark Lord served up right next to him."

_**Baroo!** _

The little pup crawled into his lap, his stubby tail wagging like mad.

"When did we get gargoyles at the Ministry?" Alastor asked.

Snape pointed at Hermione. "They love her."

"Not you?"

"Do I look like the gargoyle pup-loving kind of person?"

Moody snorted. "Well,  _ **I**_  like this one," he muttered.

The pup licked his hands and tail wagged like a loyal hound.

"Probably good, since he's kinda attached to you," Hermione said with amusement.

"Proudfoot will be so jealous," Alastor said. "And Kingsley will just steal him."

"Kingsley already has one," Snape said, curling his lip. "They are disgustingly happy to make new friends and guard you and your belongings."

"Well then, you're going to be my Eunan, eh?" Moody said, giving the pup a good pat.

_**Barro!** _

The pup crowed joyfully, his back leg pumping in happy agreement. There was a rush of warm magic, and Alastor blinked in surprise.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Hermione grinned at Severus who scowled back at her. "Told ya!"

"Fine, you win. No one can resist gargoyle pup insufferable cuteness."

Hermione kissed him on the nose.

Severus gave her a seriously heated look as they "vanished" to assist the Ministry with its deplorable lack of ley lines problem.

* * *

"We think we have managed to get all of the spells off her, but she's still stuck in her Animagus form," the one healer said, wringing her hands. She pointed to the silver tabby surrounded by gargoyle pups and one gargoyle adult female.

The tabby was curled on the larger gargoyle's back, showing no inclination to return to human form.

Alastor shuffled in. "It's not a spell, lass. She's having a bit of a brood. Let me in there."

"But sir, if it's a spell—"

"It's not."

"But—"

"I had my head kicked in a few days ago, lass, but I'm still thinkin' upstairs."

The healer made a face and then nodded, waving him in.

Alastor shuffled in, Eunan bouncing in with him. He pounced, wiggled, and greeted the other pups before snuggle-greeting the gargoyle female. She gave him a few affectionate slurps, pinning him down with her paw to groom him over, upside and down.

"Ah, Minerva, lass," he grunted, sitting down on the floor with a grunt and a bit of a stumble due to his leg. "I'm sure you're none too happy to have been tricked by that miserable old coot, but you're probably more unhappy for the reason, I'm bettin'."

Moody rubbed his hair and stretched where his wild eye was whirling around. "No one likes being deceived, and you know me— me the least of all. But, I got somethin' to show ya' lass. I think you'll be wantin' tae see this. Maybe not as much as ye would like tae see auld Albus transfigured intae a plump catnip mouse for you to play with, I suppose."

Minerva looked up at him, hissing lowly.

"Yeah, Ahm reit thaur wi' ye, lass. I am." Alastor sighed. He thumped his head into his hands and raked his fingers through his hair. "Ye ken tell it's bad when mah damn brogue seeps out mah ears laik ice-culd treacle."

Now there was a silver tabby in his lap, and she kneaded a little  _too_ close to his privates for comfort, her claws ticking away at the leather of his coat before she sat there in a slump.

Alastor ran his hand over her fur. "We'll find 'im, lass. I promise ye 'hat. You'll hae first dibs oan 'is misrable hide. Ah swear ta ye."

The room crackled with magic as the lights abruptly dimmed and brightened in random patterns. The lanterns seemed to both flicker to go out and to spring back to life. Magic arched around the room, and their hair stood on end as the power intensified, concentrated, and then formed into a distinctive humanoid shape.

With a flutter of black wool, Severus stepped out of "nothingness" as Hermione followed in his wake, his pale hand clasped to hers as she looked around as if surprised at where she was.

There was a blur of silver fur as one tabby cat launched herself at the dark-eyed wizard and landed in his arms. He tilted as he caught her with his free hand. "Ahh— Minerva. I only have one arm available at the moment." He used his one arm to hold her close to him, his eyes closed as he felt her purring like crazy.

Severus sighed, letting out a soft whuff of air. "I fear we were unable to manifest to you at Hogwarts, Minerva. Even now, we much be in physical contact to be tangible for most people. There are certain exceptions, but alas, you were not one of them."

Minerva didn't seem to be listening as she was too busy shedding all her fur on Severus' black, black wool.

Severus gave Hermione a rather abused expression, but Hermione just shrugged. "I would give you time alone, but I fear I would drop your hand," she said sympathetically.

Suddenly, the fur-blur attached itself to Hermione, rubbing, purring, and shedding even more of her stress-shed silver fur all over her. Hermione clasped the tabby to her with a gentle smile, her magic rippling down her arm as she pressed her face into the feline's warm fur.

There were no words, nor did there have to be as both Severus and Hermione held the tabby between them, soothing her soul with their touch to her fur, easing the terrible ache of grief she thought that she had borne alone.

Eunan plopped his head down on Moody's lap and lay on his side, begging for a belly rub. Alastor obliged with a grunt. "Auch, it'll be okay now, lad. We all just need a positive to take our lumps."

The pup panted and crawled all the way into his lap, weighing him down with a flop.

Alastor sighed. "You're going to be a right pain in the arse when you're bigger," he muttered. He rustled the pup's ears as she watched the stress that had bristled Minerva's fur into a spikes slowly drain away. "Merlin help that sodding manipulative son-of-an-unnamed goat. If the magic itself doesn't fry him, that fiesty old Scotswoman is going to tear him to bloody, screaming shreds— starting with his wrinkly todger."

* * *

_**Headmistress Minerva McGonagall Appointed By Board of Governors** _

_Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was promoted to Headmistress during an emergency meeting of the Board of Governors this weekend, immediately taking the place of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore after he was found guilty of a number of very serious offenses that have not been released to the general public. As the safety of the school was paramount, McGonagall was promoted to Headmaster in his stead, and Filius Flitwick was appointed the new Deputy Headmaster._

_After the murders of Hogwarts student Hermione Jean Granger and Professor Severus Tobias Snape via Dark magic by student Gregory Goyle, Goyle was sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban. The sentence was increased to life when, upon Goyle's arrest, it was discovered that he wore the Dark Mark, attesting to his allegiance to You-Know-Who. When Goyle realised he was well and truly caught, he named off a number of accomplices including his best mate, Vincent Crabbe, and Ronald Bilius Weasley. Both were immediately arrested, brought in for an Auror interview under caution and checked over for the Dark Mark. Vincent Crabbe also has been remanded to Azkaban for bearing the Mark, and Ronald Weasley is awaiting trial once the extent of his involvement in the two murders has been determined and the appropriate charges have been filed._

_While we can only speculate if these events are related to the secret charges against Dumbledore, it seems all-too-convenient that Mr Dumbledore would be accused of anything serious enough to warrant him being removed from his post shortly after the murders of a Hogwarts professor and student._

_The current whereabouts of Mr Dumbledore are unknown at this time, as an explosion during his trial left the Wizengamot in shambles and Mr Dumbledore in the wind. Anyone who believes they may have information that could lead to the capture of Albus Dumbledore is requested to contact Senior Auror Alastor Moody immediately._

* * *

As the Aurors gathered at the foot of the giant squid, who was apparently nomming on the remains of a giant snake, they couldn't help but stare at the broken, dragon-crushed body of someone or something with barely a human face.

"Bloody hell," Savage said, staring down at the bloody and broken corpses littering the grass and the rocky shore around Black Lake. "What the  _ **hell**_ happened here?"

Proudfoot shook his head. "Students reported a bunch of screaming and yelling, but by the time the teachers and staff came running out to see what was going on , we had— well, all this."

Multiple bodies of broken, bloodied, half-chewed, beheaded, and partially-eaten Death Eaters lay sprawled about on the Hogwarts' green.

There was a cry from above the school, and a giant Hebridean Black dragon was tearing off the leg of someone and feeding it to its dragonlings. The dragonlings were enthusiastically tearing into the body and making it quickly disappear.

One of the younger Aurors promptly lost his lunch all over his boots.

Savage sighed rubbed the back of his head.

"Sir, there are no wands on any of them."

Savage jerked his head up. " _ **What?"**_

"None of these, erm, victims, had a wand."

"Um— I think those  _were_ the wands," Auror Greengrass said, pointing to a flaming bonfire.

"Merlin's fungus-encrusted toenails," Savage cursed.

Proudfoot groaned. "How are we even going to report this, boss?"

As another dragon soared over, carrying the partial remains of at least three different corpses between its talons as it flew back to the nest, Savage opened his mouth, closed it, opened again, and then just decided it wasn't worth trying to say anything profound. "Fuck if I know."

He sighed. "Put your memories off all this in vials, everyone. No one back at the office is going believe it otherwise. And— uh—" he looked up to the dragon nest above Hogwarts. "Smithers, I want you and Preston to go see if you can do make any identification on the, erm, victims up there. Just try not to piss off the dragons. We don't need to deal with that on top of everything else, okay?"

"I really hate you, sir," Smithers muttered as he stormed off to fetch his broom.

Preston sighed. "Of course I'd be the one who took those 'tracing magical signatures in fetid remains' courses," he grumbled, slinking off.

"When we're all done here, we're all going for drinks at the Three Broomsticks. I'm buying," Savage said decisively.

"Well, we should probably try to get the rest of these bodies back to holding before they, uh— get eaten, sir."

Proudfoot shook his head. "I'd thought I'd seen it all. I was wrong."

"When the hell did Hogwarts get a sodding  _ **dragon**_?" One of the younger Aurors blurted out.

Savage frowned. "I think, Auror Wagnall, that we should all be asking ourselves, 'when did Hogwarts stop having proper magical guardians and why are they back now'?"

"This is  _ **not**_ a safe place for children!" one man protested after he finished hurling onto an unfortunate rose bush.

Savage shrugged. "You'll notice that not one of these beasts are attacking  _ **us**_ , Petersburg. I think this is the safest place our children could be right now. The guardians of Hogwarts just maimed, chewed, and partially devoured the Dark Lord's whole sodding army— and him as well."

"Why would the Dark Lord care about a bunch of children?"

Proudfoot just shook his head at the younger Auror. "If you are going to terrorise the adults, you hit them where they'll be hurt the most. For most people, that is their children, something we don't exactly have a lot of in comparison to, say— the Muggles."

"And the Prophet was all too happy to announce the Dumbledore was gone from Hogwarts," Savage speculated. "The one person that Voldemort was said to fear." He wrinkled his nose. "Let's get moving. Move out the bodies, examine each one before you ship them out, and make a vial of memories for each one. Label them all. I don't want any cock-ups to get back to Moody or Shacklebolt— or Scrimgeour. Move it. I'll be sure Rosmerta has the best stuff waiting for us when we're done. Now get to it, everyone."

The Aurors swarmed around to do as they were told as Savage sent out a number of Patroni, steeling himself for the chaos he knew would come in their wake. As he watched the giant squid pull the corpse of the equally giant snake down into the depths of the lake, he wondered if the war, at long last, was finally over.

* * *

Albus found that living amongst the Muggles wasn't so bad, after all. He'd had to set aside his wand so he couldn't be traced, but it wasn't as though he didn't know enough wandless magic.

He'd shaved off his trademark beard, cut his hair, and even sported a tan. He'd traded in his spectacles for more "modern" Muggle-style glasses, and he'd given up his robes in favour of jeans and t-shirts. The villagers just thought him an eccentric, doddering old man who liked to spend time tending to his vegetable garden and watching the sea. He had more access to his beloved lemon sherbets as well, which he wasn't exactly complaining about. He'd long since siphoned away money into Muggle banks, ready in case he had to do what he did. He hadn't expected it to happen quite so soon— and he certainly hadn't expected the Potter boy to lose the book to Gregory Goyle and get his fellow student and teacher killed—

Losing the Granger girl almost guaranteed that Harry would have more hardships ahead. Losing Severus, however, was a terrifying hit when it came to knowing the ongoing movements of Tom Riddle. He wondered what Tom was doing now that he had left Hogwarts.

No Prophet reached him way out here, and he didn't attempt to make an alias to get one.

All that work and careful planning had pretty much fallen to pieces. Maybe he should have known after Harry gave up on his Occlumency lessons with Severus that things were not going to go the way he wished them to. The boy was just too willful and full of hatred for Snape— and that had admittedly been Dumbledore's own fault. He had stirred up his mistrust to anyone but him, thinking if he told him to trust Snape that he would, but he had built up that intense distrust so well that the boy managed to thoroughly muck up the lessons he needed to keep his mind closed to Tom Riddle.

Dumbledore sighed. What a nuisance.

He hadn't heard anything about Muggle murders with unknown causes— or strange and unexplained causes— so he wondered what Riddle was up to. The reinforcement of the Hogwarts wards had been unexpected, to say the least. For hundreds of years those guardians had been missing, with each Headmaster tapping into the school's magic to maintain control over the school. Headmaster Dippet had shown him how to wrestle the magic to his command before he left, and the Headmaster before him had shown him— when it had started, however, Dumbledore didn't know.

Phineas had always complained that having only one gargoyle watching Hogwarts was unnatural, and some of the older portraits had wondered why Dumbledore kept the gargoyles out of the headmaster's office, as if they should be there and more than one. Phineas always was a complainer, so it was hard to find the fact between the muttering and the whinging.

And the older portraits… they just moaned about how Headmasters used to have to learn to become one with Hogwarts not just wrestle it around like some kind of errant child. But Dumbledore just did what all the other Headmasters had done… hadn't he?

Albus sucked on a lemon sherbet. He wondered who they were going to try and convince to be the next headmaster. Hrm— Minerva, perhaps, he considered after a few moments of thought. She wouldn't know how to bend the energy to Hogwarts though. Especially after that mess with all the magic surging back into Hogwarts just before he had to leave… Minerva was probably going to be pretty frustrated with the situation, the poor old witch. Ah, well, it wasn't  _his_ problem any more, now was it?

A ominous-looking storm was rolling in, and Albus sighed, closing up his porch umbrella and taking it in. The wind was picking up enough to rattle the shutters, and the sky was rapidly growing dark as night as the storm clouds quickly moved in. Thunder rumbled loudly, and the flashes of lighting were not spaced very far apart.

Flash…

... _ **BOOM!**_

The shutters rattled as the rain poured down so thick that it was hard to see the beach that was only a hundred or so yards away. He reached out the window to grab and pull them closed.

FLASH!...  _ **BOOMMMMM!**_

The light was horribly bright, and the sound was utterly deafening. He recoiled instinctively as a dark shape caught the corner of his eye.

A black silhouette of a man in wizard robes stood just outside the window.

The shutters got away from him, and they blew open with a resounding  _ **CRACK**_ , but when Albus looked there was no one there. He frowned, pulling them shut and latching them securely.

Cracka-cracka- _ **BOOM!**_

There was a swirl of black behind him, and Albus whirled.

_What the?_

Nothing. The room itself was dimly lit, so he lit a lantern using a match, closing the door after setting the lantern on the table to cast some light in the dark room. He flipped on the light switch, but nothing happened, but that was no real surprise. The electric always flickered and went out during the really bad storms.

_Patter. Patter. Patter._

The tromping of claws on floor and the distinct thump of paws caused Albus to look around some more.

Nothing.

Behind him, the great ley serpent appeared, its massive fangs glistening, and venom dripping pure magic from its wide open maw.

Albus whirled.

 _Still_ nothing.

Albus muttered uneasily to himself, rubbing his short hair with his fingers as he tried to calm his strangely frazzled nerves.

A dragon-shaped shadow blew out his lantern.

Albus turned and stumbled over a hassock. He stood stood, feeling around for the matchbox, and pulled out a match, striking it on the box to find the candle.

The flame flared up with a blaze of orange light as he saw a candle sitting on a tongue surrounded by multiple rows of razor sharp, draconic teeth.

_**CLACK!** _

The maw snapped shut and the room was cast back into total darkness.

Albus saw a light, and he stumbled towards it. It looked like a window or a door, but it went to the outside, and the outside, even in a storm, seemed a vastly better option than what he had just been subjected to.

He rushed forward with a burst of energy, dashing out into the bright light to find himself…

He was standing in an open field, slightly west of an old white house. The front door of the house was boarded up, and there was a small mailbox in front of him.

Albus looked around. There was no storm— no ocean. Just a single house in the middle of a field.

He opened the mailbox, and it revealed a leaflet.

Frowning, he picked up the leaflet and read it.

_**You're likely to be eaten by a grue. **** _

He stared at the plain letter-set writing, flipping the leaflet over to see if there was anything on the other side. The reverse side of the leaflet had a picture of a brilliantly lit lantern and a glowing sword on it with the tagline:  _ **Don't get eaten by a grue!**_  written in bold letters.

Albus dropped the leaflet, and it fluttered down into the somewhat overgrown grass.

Albus decided to see if there was another way into the house, and went south, but there was no door, and all of the windows were also boarded up. He frowned, and went east, finding himself at the back of the house. A stone path led temptingly into a dense forest to the east, but one corner of he house had a window that was just slightly ajar.

He decided to open the window, and the window creaked and strained before loudly screeching open with a strange, almost tearing sound. He moved into the window and found himself in a sterile kitchen. A nearby table had bits of food on it as if someone had been preparing food fairly recently. A corridor lead off to the west of him and a dark, gloomy staircase seemed to lead up to a equally dark second floor. A deep blue glass bottle contained some sort of liquid inside, but if it was water, it was hard to say for sure.

On the counter was a brass lantern and the familiar bejeweled sword of Godric Gryffindor.

He took the brass lantern and saw a switch, and it turned on radiantly. A small tarnished label on the lantern stated:  _ **Frobozz Magic Lantern Company.**_

He tried to take the sword, but his hand seemed to pass right through it.

Albus frowned, grasped the lantern more tightly, and went into the next room.

He found himself in a living room with a great set of wooden doors nailed shut to his west, a large glass trophy case in front of him, and a huge oriental rug in the center of the room. In the center of the rug was a small silver tabby cat.

He peered into the trophy case to see his wand, the locket of Salazar Slytherin, the ring he had found at the Gaunt shack, the supposedly lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, the goblet of Helga Hufflepuff, the destroyed diary of Tom Riddle, a strange piece of dried, flesh-coloured— was that  _skin_?- with a jagged lightning slash on it, and the shrunken and dried head from a massive serpent of some kind— sans the rest of the body.

Albus stepped away slowly, getting the feeling that something was more than a little amiss. Yet even as he did so, he found himself face-to-face with the silver tabby in the middle of the rug.

The feline stood, but even as she did, her body seemed to expand like an Occamy to fit the room, her furry body growing huge in a manner of seconds.

_Mrowlll… Albus._

What?

The large feline was licking her muzzle, and her mouth was full of impossibly large, needle-sharp teeth.

_I have a bone to pick with you, Albus._

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Now, Minerva—"

Why couldn't he Apparate?

The feline slowly stalked towards him, the heat of her moist breath getting ever closer.  _You put spells on me. The Imperius on me. Confundus on me. You repeatedly Obliviated me. You put false memories in my head._

The cat's muzzle wrinkled in clear feline displeasure as she let out a low, threatening hiss.

_Allow me to show you just how… grateful I am, Albus. For the massive sodding cockup you left for me in your wake._

The tabby crouched, growling, her rear wriggling in warning just before she pounced.

"Minerva! You don't understand! Min—  _ **MINERVA!"**_

Albus tore out of the room at top speed, running like crazy. He ran towards the open window, but the window was missing. He saw an open stairway going down and bolted down it. Just as he got down the stairs, his lantern went out, and the huge feline's muzzle twisted into a Cheshire cat smile before the cat and her eerily white teeth disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

* * *

The healers tutted as they brought in the drooling, catatonic form of the man who had once been lauded as the greatest wizard of all time, defeater of Grindelwald and the shining Leader of the Light, one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"Yes, that's my brother Albus, alright," Aberforth said with a slight frown. "I can't say I've ever seem him quite like  _that_ , but— well, I'm not saying that the ruddy old bastard didn't get exactly what was coming to him— let's just say I won't be crying over it."

"Thanks for the verification, Aberforth," Moody said, scribbling down the details in a notebook. "You know  _ **I**_ know who he is, but we have to be sure this time considering everything that happened this past month."

"Aye," Aberforth said, stroking his beard. "And the tan, short hair, and lack of substantial beard does tend throw one off a bit."

Moody grunted. "Anything you need from us, Aberforth?"

Aberforth shook his head. "Just make sure he's not fakin' it, Alastor. If anyone could fake a coma, it'd be my not-so-dear brother."

The healers were already placing soft restraints on the bed to keep their patient securely tethered "just in case" even as the lead healer came in to check Albus's eyes and his latest vitals.

Savage came up and nodded to Moody. "I know you don't believe in karma, boss, but I think you have to in this case."

Moody wrinkled his nose, absently petting Eunan's ears. The gargoyle pup wuffed, tail wagging happily.

"No, lad. I don't believe in karma, but I  _do_ believe in magic." Moody narrowed his eyes. "And sometimes, magic even believes in us."

* * *

As Severus moved in behind Hermione, she squeaked and then purred as his arms went around her and pulled her close. She looked up at him, giggling as his mouth descended upon hers from above before. He handed her a glass of Minerva's extra special lemonade that she made sure to send them for every "beautiful sunset" they watched from the very top of the Hogwarts roof. As the sun dipped down, they materialised back in the Chamber of Secrets— their new home deep beneath the hustle and bustle of the outside world.

The leys would dip in and out to greet them, and their ley "children" would zip in and out to rub up against them before zinging off to other areas of the castle. The gargoyles would pop in often to visit them and enjoy their underground paradise made real.

An expansive hot spring spanned under the arching serpent sculptures, and phosphorescent plants grew all around. Severus' careful tending grew hundreds of rare species of plants that made for the jealousy of apothecaries everywhere— not to mention Pomona Sprout.

Minerva's work on the Board of Governors had them practically grovelling to do whatever she wanted to make things "not like they were under bloody Albus", and she had all of Severus' things moved down into the "new chambers" below: the Chamber of the Guardians of Magic.

Now a permanent part of Hogwarts, the old Chamber of Secrets was the central core where all the leys intersected, and their eternal guardians would always remain to ensure that magic was never again tampered with as it had been in previous generations.

Amelia helped install a permanent  _wierheid_  glass in a formal "sitting room" outside the chamber for entertaining any formal guests that needed to talk to the couple, but everyone who knew them knew their secret if Hermione and Severus  _really_ wanted to manifest, they could. They didn't tell anyone else that, though.

With the magic stabilised all around England, Severus and Hermione allowed themselves to settle, and practice materialising so they could have guests they actually wanted without having to constantly hold hands the entire time— though Severus admitted that sometimes he liked holding Hermione's hand just to make Harry twitch.

With a library that made even Madam Pince jealous, a potions lab that Slug and Jiggers would have  _killed_ for, and a massive, yet cozy bedroom suite that neither Severus and Hermione were complaining about, the couple were set for sending their ley children out to the many corners of the world to reinforce the areas that were sorely lacking in magic.

Orva, dutiful house-elf that had arrived and announced she was there to serve the Magic Guardians, refused to take "no" for an answer or clothes. She did, however, compromise in weaving together some beautiful doilies into something less like she was wearing a pillowcase, much to Hermione's relief.

Severus still brewed potions for Poppy, but began to deliver them via gargoyle pup. However, the poor mediwitch had to bribe the pups with tasty snacks to get them to stop wiggling enough to let her get the potions out of the carry bags. Sometimes the pair would patrol the halls together after hours and sic a team of eager gargoyle pups and baby dragons on the post-curfew lollygagging snoggers, much to Filch's amusement and delight and the guilty students' dismay.

Hermione became a bit of a poltergeist to a certain Sybill Trelawney, zapping the crystal balls and making them float around and then chase the screaming witch around the tower. Of course whenever Minerva came to see the alleged damage, everything was back in perfect order.

Curiously, a fresh-baked tin of Scottish shortbread biscuits would always find its way below ground shortly after.

Lost first-years would find that a bushy-haired woman with colourful sparks in her hair would escort them to their towers at night. Bullies would find themselves hung upside down by their ankles from the ceiling for the patrolling professors. Those who dared attempt any sort of Dark magic outside the DADA classroom would find quickly themselves hounded by a "spectre of black" whose very countenance send them fleeing to the Headmistress' office to hastily babble out a detailed confession of their shameful deeds and accept their punishment without complaint.

Minerva would often have tea in the lower chambers, commenting on Severus' propensity to send her students into paroxysms of terror. Severus, of course, gave her the ever steeply angled eyebrow as his all-purpose response to any and all accusations of unholy mischief.

Harry was, perhaps, the most common visitor after Minerva, and he spent most of his remaining seventh year studying and preparing for his N.E.W.T.s without the influence of his former best mate to distract him. Hermione seemed to enjoy his company entirely too much for Severus to make much of a fuss over it, but "we're not picking out curtains"  _did_ come up a few times. He visited frequently even after his graduation, and he made a personal project out of studying the relationship between magic and the old schools, and why Hogwarts had changed over the years before finally regaining the power it should have had all along.

His published work had a rather touching dedication to Hermione and Severus Snape, whom he said "gave the ultimate sacrifice in bringing magic back to the places it should have been all along". Hermione had burst into tears of happiness, touched beyond belief. Severus calmly sipped his tea and said nothing, save for a tiny twitch of his lips that curved upward for the briefest second before disappearing altogether.

Hermione told Harry that they were  _both_ very proud of him— even Severus— despite the scowl on Severus' face 98.999999 percent of the time when Harry was around.

As for Harry's old mate, Ron Weasley, he was sentenced to ten years hard labour working for the goblins and had to take night classes at the Ministry to scrape the few N.E. he was capable of. He ended up working for his brothers due to many places not wanting to hire someone as notorious as him.

His mother, Molly, never truly recovered from the shocking betrayal of one Albus Dumbledore. And when it was rumoured that Ron was considering moving to the States to make a new life for himself, Molly suffered a serious breakdown, forcing him to stay in Britain to help care for her. It was hardly an ideal situation, but there were some who said, when they happened to meet him in passing, that Ron had grown up quite a bit and taken far more responsibility for his situation than certain others that had found themselves in similar circumstances.

As for Hermione and Severus— they found they had let a lot of things go in order to embrace other things head on. Their love for each other became the kind of thing ballads and fairy tales (not those written by Grimm brothers) were based on. They may have ended one chapter of their lives as teacher and student, but they had moved on as true caretakers of both the magic they had become a part of and each other.

Severus pressed his nose into Hermione's curls and pulled her close to him, savouring her distinctive imprint on his life. "My love, I have a belated wedding present for you," he rumbled.

Hermione turned and looked at him with a curious smile. "As surprising as the ring your proposed to me with in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle?"

"Quite possibly," Severus mused, the tug of a smile on his lips.

"Whatever could it be?" she asked, kissing his nose.

He gestured his hand, and a bookshelf slid away to expose a previously-hidden room.

Hermione frowned, suspicious, and walked toward it, cautiously peeking inside.

As she stepped through the doorway, she found herself in her parents' living room, her parents bursting into happy tears at the sight of her.

" _ **Hermione!"**_  Her parents ran to her, hugging her tight. "Severus has been working on that bookcase for the last year, he told us when everything was perfect, we'd know! We never believed it when we got that letter saying that you were dead!"

Her parents attempted to do their very best to squeeze the life out of her, and Hermione could only hug them back. She looked up to where her husband was leaning against the bookshelf, a smug smile of satisfaction on his face.

"I love you," she mouthed silently, tears coming down her cheeks.

"I love you always," Severus replied, just before an eager gargoyle pup zoomed out of the portal door and jumped onto the Grangers' couch, promptly making himself at home.

* * *

**The End.**

* * *

**A/N:**  Hope you liked the story!

This story was written for The Dragon and the Rose, who had to beta her own story-gift. Oops? Damn I hope she liked it. I'm a horrible gift-giver!

**Author's Note:**

> For those who got the Infocom game reference in this story, you're my kind of people and I love you for it! <3


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